


Feeling a Bit Feverish

by phadedphoque



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Scat, No Sex, Object Insertion, Other, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, The Author Regrets Everything, just weird fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phadedphoque/pseuds/phadedphoque
Summary: Morty is feeling very sick and goes to Rick for help. He regrets it thoroughly.(I like to think that Morty never went to college and became an adult NEET and still mooches off his parents and goes on adventures with Rick even at like 20 years old so imagine that he's that old here)





	Feeling a Bit Feverish

Morty wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having given up on tossing and turning at a feeble attempt to sleep. He’d been feverish all day, on the verge of death and hoping that sleep would provide him with sweet sweet release with no such luck. He checks the clock on his bedside to find it’s nearly 3 in the morning. He’s spent enough time trying to suffer through his sickness and decides it’s time to get some professional help. Wearily, he pulls on a loose pair of boxer shorts and an oversized shirt and makes his way to the door to his bedroom. 

He shuffles down the hallway to Rick’s room, the only person he figured might be awake at this time of night. He’s also the only person likely to have a solution to this situation. He’d tried earlier only to be met with an empty room. Thankfully, this time around a sliver of light glowed from underneath the the crack of Rick’s door, an indication he was in his room and still awake. He knocks on the door gently as to not wake any of the other members of the Smith family up. From the other side of the door he hears muffled grumbling but eventually the door opens to reveal a disgruntled Rick wearing only his undershirt and a pair of his usual khaki pants. 

 

“What do  _ you _ want  _ Mooooooorty _ ?” Rick condescends, the putrid scent of whiskey on his breath. “It’s three in the morning”

 

“Rick I… I don’t feel so good” he answers, leaning against the doorway for support. He holds onto his stomach with his hands, as if that would keep it from falling out of his body. He wipes the sweat from his quivering brow, both too hot and too cold at the same time 

 

Rick scoffs, rolls his eyes and grabs onto the baby fat of Morty’s arm, tugging him along to follow. He sits his grandson down at his cot, Morty continuing to shiver against Rick’s pillows. Rick places the back of his hand on Morty’s forehead to assess the fever, gentler than he typically was with Morty despite his previous complaint.

 

_ “Dios mios, _ you’re burning up” Rick comments. With a sigh, he turns away and begins to rifle through his drawers, coming up with a bar of ivory soap. 

 

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back” 

 

Briefly, Morty is relieved. Of course Rick would know what to do, he always does. Agonizing minutes that drip by like syrup pass until Rick finally returns with a red bag connected to some plastic tubing. Morty looks at the equipment, confused. He had been expecting some sort of alien cure-all like the broken leg serum or at the very least some sort of pill. There was nothing extra-terrestrial about the plastic his grandfather was holding.   

 

“What’s- What’s that Rick?” He questions, voice smaller than usual. 

 

“This is go- _ ooee _ -ing, going to help your fever go down, Morty” Rick explains nonchalantly, sitting down at the bed. 

Morty hears a sloshing sound, noticing that the bag is full of water. Suddenly, the horrible feeling in his stomach swings between discomfort to uneasiness. Helpfulness was out of character for his grandfather, there must have been a catch.

 

“Heh-heh so am I... going to drink that water Rick?” Morty laughs nervously. “K-kind of weird to drink s-soapy water Rick, but if you say so…”

 

Turning to meet Rick’s face, he notices a darkness in his expression.

 

“No- _ uurp _ -oope, you’re not drinking this water. This-This is an enema Morty. Gonna go waaaay up your butt”. 

 

Morty gulps as the catch is revealed.  

 

_ “Riiiick”  _ Morty whines “Don’t you have anything more... science-y that could help me?”

 

“This is science Morty! Tried and true, old fashioned science. It’ll make your fever go down right away.”

 

Morty glances at the bag, then back to his grandfather, skeptical of the procedure. 

 

“Tale-Tale as old as time Mort, now come here”

 

Rick pulls his grandson over to himself, taking Morty off guard. He’s close to Rick now, closer than a normal young man should ever be to his grandfather for more than a quick hug, but he and Rick had never exactly been a normal pair. Taking a swig out of his trusty flask before  solidifying their uncommon closeness, Rick places a hand on Morty’s stomach, gently pushing down and rubbing it in a circular, massaging motion. 

 

“Feel how warm you are? This’ll make you feel so much better” 

 

Morty whimpers softly, his body had hurt so, so much and the tender touches felt good despite their unconventional provider. 

 

Sighing, Morty adjusts to provide better access to his stomach, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling. It’s not often that Rick is wrong, and while there isn’t anything here to gain by helping Morty, there also isn’t anything gained by leaving him to wither away. While In the rational part of his brain, he’d resigned to trusting his grandfather in this situation, his basic instincts have his fight or flight response triggered.While being party to the smartest man in the universe came with its perks, it was never without its downfalls. Trusting him meant Morty was now a mouse in the lion’s den; vulnerable and completely at the mercy of Rick’s hand. Even if he had wanted to escape, his chances would be slim to none on account of his weakened state. 

 

Rick moves over to hang the bag on the corner of the small bed, busining himself with preparing for the procedure.    

“Okay, come here and lay over my legs. Stomach down.”

 

Morty’s brow furrows as he reluctantly does as he’s told. He lies his chest across his grandfather’s lap and he’s again reminded of his age and how weird it feels to be coddled like this; the loss of autonomy embarrassing and unnerving. He swallows hard in his throat as It dawns on him that in this position he’s not going to be able to see what’s happening to him. Suddenly, the dread of not knowing what is going to happen is eating him alive, the need to see what’s going on overwhelming him. Nerves abundant, he attempts to adjust himself to get more comfortable, wiggling across Rick’s legs. It’s difficult to breathe like this,  his weight being pressed against his lungs. Without warning, Rick pushes Morty to center him over his lap, the result leaving Morty feeling even more trapped. 

 

“Quit-Quit moving Moooorty, it’s been a while since I’ve done this” Rick stammers as he places his elbow in the middle of Morty’s back to anchor him in place. Morty’s breathing quickens, the added pressure making it even harder to fill his lungs. 

 

When Rick finally has him where he wants him, he unceremoniously yanks down Morty’s boxers, leaving his grandson exposed to the open air of the bedroom. Morty feels his dick touch the corduroy of his grandfather’s pants and briefly worries that the rough fabric will cause it to chafe. 

 

“R-Rick! Mind giving-- would you give me some warning?”

 

Rick rolls his eyes in response, not that Morty can really see. 

“Alright, I’m just going to start prepping you now”

 

Morty feels Rick touch his ass, his hands grasping it firmly, thumbs digging into the crevasse between the two mounds. He feels the cheeks pulled apart, exposing himself to Rick. He clenches unconsciously at the cold air that touches his hole, unfamiliar with the sensation. Nobody has ever touched him like this and his cheeks burn from humiliation. They’re called  _ privates _ for a reason and the  _ last _ person who should be looking back there is his own grandfather. Too suddenly he feels something cold and wet drip at his hole, followed by a blunt prodding.

 

“Ack!”

“Shh shh shh shhh Morty” he coos, patting his butt softly. “it’s fine, it-it’s just me”.

 

Rick pushes his back down harder, in an attempt to still him more. The effect of his forcefulness leaves Morty feeling  trapped again, and he starts to breathe heavily in a panic. 

 

“G-eeze Morty, relax! Take-just take a deep breath for me.”  

 

Morty tries his hardest to calm down and breathe, he closes his eyes tight, imagining he’s anywhere but here. The pad of Rick’s finger returns to Morty’s hole, the gel feeling cold and slick. This time, the finger enters the tight muscle, the sphincter twitching at the intrusion. 

 

“Ooooh geeze” he murmurs out through his clenched teeth. 

 

“And push out for me, just li- _ uuuurp- _ like that. Gooood job”

 

His attempt to expel the finger from his asshole results in it only ending up deeper as he bears down. It’s all the way in up to the knuckle now when it he feels it begin to wriggle, his insides being prodded in a way he’s never felt before. It’s extremely uncomfortable and he worries that he’s going to piss himself when he feels more pressure on his bladder from the finger. His body twitches against his will when Rick moves his finger in a particular motion, a tingling sensation shooting down his spine and to his cock. He keeps pushing that one spot and feels his dick continue to react, biting his lip in fear wondering what is wrong with him for feeling this way right now. After what feels like ages of stretching, Morty feels it start to withdraw, worried about both his growing erection and dirtying Rick as the finger leaves his hole. Thankfully, Rick doesn’t say anything.  

 

Rick lets up on the pressure that secures Morty to his lap to grab the end of the tubing connected to the red bag. Though he’s not looking forward to the process at all, he’s at least relieved to see that the tip is a little bit smaller than Rick’s fingertip. Rick lubricates the end of the plastic well before readjusting to position morty downwards again over his lap. 

 

“Now, because you’re sick and I don’t  _ trust _ you enough not to  _ fuck _ this up, we’re going to have to use the inflatable tip”

 

“W-what? Rick please! I promise I can--”

 

Before Morty can finish his protest Rick’s hands are back at his ass, spreading apart his cheeks once again, hard plastic at his hole. It slides in with a bit of a pressure, less resistance than he’d like due to the slime now oozing out of his hole. It’s a strange sensation, having something go  _ up _ his hole, being that there’s only ever been something coming  _ out _ of it.Then, he feels something like a pinch against his walls. His instinct is to push it out but he tries and it  _ hurts _ . 

 

“Idiot, don’t try to push it out. It’s there to be stuck.”

 

Rick gives the tubing a tug to ensure its security, Morty suddenly understanding why animals hate getting pulled by their tails. 

 

“I’m gonna let some water in now, ok?”

 

_ No, it’s not ok _ Morty thinks, but doesn’t dare say it. The water trickles in and his immediate instinct is panic that he’s wet himself. Rick holds him down again when he starts to wriggle at the sensation, holding Morty to his lap. Minutes pass like this, the water actually helping him cool down from the unbearable heat. Where his body has been relieved of fever, a new discomfort builds in his stomach. He hisses as his stomach cramps, letting a low whine out. 

“I think… I think I need to go now” Morty says softly, embarrassed to have to ask his grandfather for permission. 

 

“M-Morty you haven’t even taken half the bag yet. I can’t let y- _ urrrp- _ can’t let you get up yet”  

 

Morty groans in defeat. Of  _ course _ he would be difficult about this. He squeezes his eyes shut as another wave of cramping hits his stomach, a whimper escaping his lips. Without saying anything, Rick scoops Morty’s shoulders and legs in his arm and rolls him so that he’s on his left side, taking care not to jostle the tubing and setting a pillow under Morty’s head for support. It’s oddly gentle, and almost worse than being on his stomach on account of how he’s now facing Rick, dick out and able to make eye contact with one another. 

 

“Gotta-Gotta let it get into the descending colon” Rick mumbles, seemingly aware of the uncharacteristic intimacy he’s displaying. 

 

More time passes in this position, the two not saying much of anything on account of the general awkwardness of the encounter. The pressure from the water makes Morty feel painfully full, cramping much more abundant now.  

 

“ _ Riiiiiick _ , it  _ huuuurts _ ” Morty whines tears welling in his eyes.

 

Rick scoffs but places his hand on Morty’s stomach, pressing down lightly. He starts to rub in circles again, a soothing gesture that helps some of the cramping subside. It feels… _ good _ in a really odd way. He’s rolled onto his back now, giving Rick better access to his stomach. He feels his cock twitch in response to the pleasure and is completely mortified.  _ That’s your grandfather, you sick fuck.  _ He catches Rick’s eyes: there’s no way he didn’t notice his dick reacting. Averting his eyes and sparing Morty whatever small amount of dignity he has left, Rick busies himself with checking the enema bag. 

 

“Go- _ ooough- _ ood job Morty, you took the whole bag. Now you’ve just gotta hold it for 10 minutes”. 

 

Rick moves to disconnect the long tube from the bag, but leaves the inflatable tip inside of Morty, teasingly flicking at his new tail. Morty knows it’s supposed to be a mocking gesture but it causes arousal to pool in his groin, the water making every small movement multiplied, and he hates it. Rolled back onto his stomach again, Morty ruts into Rick’s thigh unconsciously, his dick seeking friction his brain doesn’t want him to find. With an indiscernible grunt, Rick pushes Morty off his lap and onto the cot, flipping him onto his back. The two make eye contact with one another, Rick’s expression a strange, sadistic grimace; Morty’s eyes full of shame and timid fear. He quickly averts his eyes, looking at his stomach instead. He winces upon inspection; it’s taut and distended compared to its usual flat plane.     

 

“Alright, get up.”

 

Rick grabs Morty by his elbow again, prompting him to stand on shaky legs. As Morty stands, Rick takes his place on the cot and sits down. He gives Morty a once over, letting his eyes linger at the bulge in his stomach. Morty can tell he’s doing it and it reminds him that he is so small in comparison to the power that is Rick Sanchez. 

 

“Bend over and touch your toes”

 

“W-what?”

 

“B-bend over and touch your toes. Helps-- Helps the water get w- _ uuurp- _ way into you.” 

 

Morty stands still, making no moves. 

 

“R-Rick I can’t, there’s no way--”

 

Rick gets up from his place on the bed and walks over to Morty, who cowers away from him instinctually. Before Morty can get too far, he places one hand on his stomach and the other on Morty’s back, firm and unmoving. 

 

“ _ I said: _ Bend. Over.” 

 

Rick pushes Morty into position, forcing his body to fold in half. Morty cries out at the movement, not prepared for the stretch. The water sloshes around inside him wildly, his stomach doubled over and pinging with pain. 

 

“There, that was--  _ uuurp _ \--- wasn’t so  _ hard _ now was it? Go ahead and count to 10 Mississippi” Rick chides, still holding Morty’s back down. 

 

Morty sniffles but begins to count, knowing there isn’t anything else he can do. 

 

“...eight mississippi, nine mississippi, ten mississippi”

 

Gently, Rick’s hands begin to help him back up into a standing position, Morty weak in the knees and needing the help. Again, he feels the water slosh inside of him, and he lets out a low, painful whine. Glancing at his watch, Rick nods in the direction of the cot.  

 

“I guess it’s been enough time. Bend over the bed.”

 

Morty tearfully scowls at his grandfather but says nothing and does as he’s told, careful not to put too much additional pressure on his stomach while he leans over the cot.  

 

“I’m going to pull it out now, don’t even  _ think _ about-about leaking, Mo- _ oough- _ rty.” 

 

Anxiety runs through Morty once again as he feels his cheeks spread apart by Rick’s practiced hands. He feels Rick toy with the tubing, tickling at his rim, and then feels the pressure of the balloon inside his asshole dissipate. His relief is all too brief when he feels the tube slip out of him, no longer anything to keep the water inside of him except for his own fatigued muscles. He’s keenly aware of his asshole, clenching the muscle with all of his might, terrified of Rick’s wrath should he let any of the water out. 

 

Demeaningly, he feels Rick pat his ass, signaling his turn to get off the bed. 

 

“Alright, get-get outta here”

 

Morty steadies himself as he stands bow-legged, using all of his willpower to focus on keeping the water in. He takes one small step towards the door and immediately regrets it, feeling a small amount of water drip down the inside of his thigh. 

 

“I.. I can’t-- Rick I’m not gonn-gonna--” Morty mumbles, looking at his grandfather with tearful eyes. 

 

“Tsk tsk”, Rick condescends. “This is-  _ uurp- _ you’re  _ pathetic, Morty _ . Yo-you can’t do  _ anything _ right”.

 

Morty blushes at the admonishment, the words bristling at the back of his spine, fuelling his shame. Before Morty can attempt moving again, he’s scooped up by Rick. He feels small, so tiny in his arms and it reminds him of just how pathetic he actually is. Rick holds him bridal style on their trip to the restroom, Morty thankful that this is all happening in the early hours of the morning where no other members of the Smith household would be able to witness his humiliation. 

The pair finally arrive in the bathroom, Rick placing Morty over the toilet. 

“There. Go.” Rick commands, crossing his arms, his ever present scowl looming over Morty. 

 

“...I.. Can’t! Not with you… watching” Morty manages to stutter out, desiring nothing more in the world than to be left alone with his shame. Instead of turning around and leaving the bathroom, Rick crouches down onto his knees, on level with Morty now. Confusion and panic bubble to the forefront of his brain.

 

“Guess I’ve got to do  _ everything _ around here myself”, Rick growls through clenched teeth. He applies rough, heavy pressure to Morty’s stomach, Morty crying out as he does so. On the verge of tears through the whole process, this last demeaning action pushes him over the edge into full on sobbing. He’s forced to release himself, the pressure on his stomach unrelenting and he can’t stop-- he no longer has control over his own body. He sobs until he can’t anymore, and his loud crying turns into soft whimpering, head pounding from crying. Rick lets off his stomach to grab some toilet paper, wiping the tears from his eyes. Wordlessly, Rick stands up, washes his hands and exits the bathroom, leaving Morty to his business. 

 

Twenty minutes later, Morty leaves the bathroom feeling drained and more tired than he’s ever been in his life. He puts on a robe that’s been left for him on the bathroom door and makes his way back to his room. He’s surprised to see a gatorade left for him on his nightstand, his favorite flavor they only make in the same dimension as the telepathic spiders. He takes a sip and lets his body fall onto his bed, sleep finally taking him. 


End file.
